Eyeliner and Cigarettes
by Lif61
Summary: After the vampire hunt where Dean found the man wearing makeup, he's been curious, and now he wants to give wearing makeup a try. Dean doesn't really know what he's doing, but he's on a tough case and knows he could use something to de-stress. That seems to go sideways when Castiel shows up and drags him into more violence.


"Fuck, how do they even fucking—" Dean began, but was cut off.

_Bang!_

He jumped, arm ramming into the mold-covered porcelain, and it made him mis-aim.

A black line streaked across his face.

_Oh, what the fuck, Sammy?_

Dean put the eyeliner down, watching his phone clatter into the sink, and then he went to the bathroom door to slam his fist against it. He and Sam were holed up in an abandoned house outside of a small town in Michigan, up near Lake Huron. It was pretty, sure, when it wasn't infested with rawheads. Nothing new in the case had turned up, and they were on a break for the night.

"Having yourself some target practice?!" Dean yelled at his brother.

"Sorry, was cleaning it. It misfired."

"Next time it goes off, aim it somewhere useful… like a monster's balls."

Originally he'd been planning on finishing that up with something far from kind, but he knew he had to take it easy on Sam. Cas had talked to him about it once, and Dean knew he was right.

Cas.

Where was he?

No, didn't matter.

Tonight wasn't about him.

It was about Dean.

It was why he'd gone to the drugstore, and why he needed to get back to his damn phone, which was playing the video facedown in the sink.

He picked it up, resting it back on the counter, and he stared in the mirror at the mess he'd made of his face.

Not even one eye done.

So he could remove a bullet, but he couldn't put on eyeliner.

"What are you doing in there anyway?" Sam asked, as Dean took one of the makeup wipes he'd bought and started wiping all the black off from underneath his right eye. Great, he'd have to start over.

And what was the video blabbing about? His waterline? The fuck was that?

"Getting myself ready to go out, Sam. A little somethin' called hygiene. You wouldn't have heard of it."

He smiled, knowing his brother would catch onto him teasing him.

"You, going out. Dude, we're on a case."

"Yeah, but you find any more bodies in the little daycare the rawheads got in that lovely duplex of theirs? No? Then I'm doing what I do, and having some fun."

"All night."

"I like to take all night. Ladies like it that way, Sam." _Or men._ His brother didn't have to know that last part.

"Uh huh." He could tell Sam was standing outside the door now, maybe halfway engrossed in this conversation as he surely did some other task Dean couldn't see. "So you're preening."

Dean had paused the video now, and had just been about to start trying to apply the eyeliner again, though he could see black smudges of where it had been under his eye, just above his eyelashes — was that where his waterline was? — but he straightened and sighed.

"Or… maybe I'm prebating," he brought up, knowing the disgusted look Sam was about to get on his face, nose all scrunched up. "You gonna leave me to it?"

"Ew!" Sam exclaimed. "Ugh, dude."

Dean let out a laugh that he hated to admit sounded a bit more like a cackle. He loved getting to Sam sometimes.

"Go clean the guns, Sammy. I'm cleanin' mine."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

That ended that, so Dean was able to struggle with this in peace and quiet. Well, not all quiet. He'd let out frustrated growls, and there was the girl in the video talking. She was cute, but he ended up not caring much about that, and just wondered what kind of blood magic she'd done to get her eyeliner looking so neat.

Eventually he had black underlining both his eyes. He knew from the video that sometimes that on its own looked good, but something was missing. Time to struggle with his upper lids. So Dean continued watching, continued smudging black everywhere, getting it on his fingers, somehow ending up with some on his nose, on his browbone, _in_ his eye. And eventually, his eyes were lined.

It wasn't perfect. Not even close, but it was night, bars and clubs were dark, and he was a guy putting in some effort. Someone would appreciate it.

Dean checked the time on his watch and swore when he noticed that had taken fifteen minutes.

Sam knocked on the door.

"Clog a drain?"

"Whose gross now?" Dean shot back.

"Dude, what if I have to take a piss?"

"Go outside."

"Yep. When there's a toilet right here. Smart."

Dean said nothing, just put the eyeliner down and looked at the rest of the items he'd bought. He wasn't ready yet. He wanted to put more makeup on.

There was a sigh that came from the other side. He felt it more than heard it.

"Dean, are you okay? If this is about not being able to save that kid this morning—"

"I'm fine."

"Dean, you can talk to me."

No, he couldn't. That was the problem. He couldn't talk to Sam about what he was doing now, about what type of person he was hoping he'd end up with that night, about how he wanted to be with Cas. And now their hunt. Rawheads weren't easy. They went after kids, kept them locked up in basements where no one could hear them cry for help, and then they ate them, bit by bit.

They'd found a kid that morning: Connor. Dean had looked him in the eyes while he was still alive, had held his hand, had even found out that his favorite superhero was Thor. Dean had told him that he was going to be like Thor, and he would use lightning to save him. Connor died in his arms moments later, blood soaking into his clothes, and the rawhead had gotten away before Dean could electrocute it to death.

So he didn't need to think about the damn case at the moment, didn't need to see Connor's glassy, brown-eyed stare, lids flecked with blood, looking up at him. He didn't need to _talk_ about it. And he didn't need Sam knowing about some damn makeup he'd gone and purchased to try and make himself feel better.

The one guy he'd seen wearing it when they were on that one vamp hunt? Well, he'd gotten Dean curious. The thought hadn't left him alone. But now he was afraid.

Afraid of some freakin' eyeliner and glitter?

Come on, he could blow a ghoul's head off, but his hand was shaking when he held up the palette he'd gotten? It was glittery, alright, and was called Glitter Shot or something. Dean had lied he'd been getting it for a girl.

Sam was still there, still talking, something about Connor. He heard some of it, took it in, and tears were building up in his eyes.

_Crap, that shit'll smudge it._

"It's okay, Dean," Sam continued. "We're hunters, okay? We fail today, we just get up and try again tomorrow. And we'll kill this thing. We always do."

Dean realized he had to keep his brother talking if he didn't want him bothering him about the makeup, so as he opened the palette and lightly tapped his fingers to it and started applying it to one cheekbone he said, "Yeah, but it don't bring 'em back."

"No, we can't do that. If we could do that, who would we be? There'd be no rules for us. And people like us, we need rules."

Dean grunted in agreement, half-paying attention, knowing Sam was right.

Dean did need rules, but he didn't need shitty societal rules about what he could put on his face. It was his own face for crying out loud. If he wanted to put in some extra effort, that was his business. He knew Sam wasn't talking about that, but somehow it still stung.

He started on the other cheek, smearing the highlighter on, realizing he wasn't actually that bad at this.

"Just don't get too drunk. Don't want to have to scrape you up from the back of a bar in the middle of nowhere."

Dean cleared his throat, trying to push his emotions aside, and he forced himself to smile. It didn't reach his eyes, and even with the makeup (or perhaps because of) it gave him a sharp edge. "You know me, I won't be at the bar if all goes my way. Some lucky girl's gonna have me in her bed."

"Go easy on her."

Dean laughed under his breath. Sam had it all backwards.

"Should be tellin' her to go easy on me."

"Yeah, yeah. Have fun. I'm going to get some coffee, see if there's something I missed on the maps or in the missing persons reports while I'm down at the café."

"Good. Get out of here."

Dean waited till Sam left, and then realized he wasn't satisfied with his work. More glitter? He put some on his eyelids with another palette he had, which fucked up his eyeliner, so then he had to redo that, and by then it was somehow spreading to his browbones and more to his cheeks.

_You look girly. You wanna look like a girl, son?_

The voice in his head was his dad's, and Dean shook his head, closing his eyes, and he took a deep breath.

_No son of mine is gonna look like some god damn fairy princess. I ought to take you out back and—_

"Nope. Nope, not winning this one, Dad," Dean said to the empty air. He was dead, but he still had ahold of him sometimes. He'd creep up into his dark thoughts, his self-deprecation, his hurt.

Dean winked at himself, fully appreciating how the eyeliner had brought out the green in his eyes, how the glitter made his cheekbones look more fine and accentuated, how he looked… good.

"Lookin' hot, Dean," he told himself.

And then it was time to go.

* * *

Dean was driving down a long stretch of road, _alone_, when Castiel showed up in his backseat.

He slammed on the brakes.

"What the—?"

"Hello, Dean."

Dean got the Impala off to the side of the road, and turned to him instantly, forgetting about the makeup, and looked him over quickly, trying to see if he was hurt. No darker spots on his clothing, no signs of blood. Skin color was okay, eyes were alright (more than alright, they were damn perfect).

"Cas?"

Castiel leaned forward and swiped his thumb against Dean's cheek, and then he licked it, as Dean stared.

"Ah. So you _are_ wearing makeup."

"And you tasted it, why?"

"Thought my eyes were deceiving me. Sometimes my other senses can tell me more information." He leaned in, sniffing him, and Dean found himself holding his breath, but he thought he might've leaned closer. "And you're nervous. How come?"

"'Cause an angel randomly showed up in my backseat when I was trying to go get dick."

Cas squinted his eyes, and still held the front seat, staring hard at Dean.

"Get… dick… I don't—"

"You mind leavin'?"

Before Dean had finished speaking Castiel was gone. He let out a sigh, and then the angel was back, in the passenger seat. Dean jumped. The angel's hand was on his thigh.

Dean put his face in his one hand, leaning against the window.

"Oh my god, Cas."

"You're working a case," he stated.

"Yeah, rawheads."

"Get back on the road. I have more work for you."

"Look, buddy, I had a shitty day. I just want to go out, meet a guy, and hope somewhere along the way I lose my pants."

"Dean, why would you want to lose your pants? You'd just have to get a new pair."

"Never mind." He licked his lips, worried, but he was glad Castiel hadn't said anything about his choice of prospective partners. If anything he seemed to be oblivious to it. Dean got back on the road, and then glanced at him, looking beneath that, and he saw hurt.

The two of them had kissed a couple of times, a few heated makeout sessions after hunts that had nearly gone wrong, nothing below the belt… not yet.

Was Cas… jealous?

"So, you want me to get Sam in on this?"

"No, just you. We can finish it in a few hours. One of my brethren has… gone rogue."

"How does an angel go rogue, exactly?"

"How did an angel fall from God's grace and end up in a car with a hunter post-apocalypse? Humanity."

"Why aren't your other buddies in on this?"

"They don't know. It felt too…"

"Felt too what?" They were coming into town now, and Dean asked. "Which way?"

They were at a four-way intersection along some of the more rundown roads, chain link fences running along the dirt path on the side. A streetlamp flickered.

"Left here." Castiel then answered Dean's earlier question: "Too close to home. An angel getting into trouble because of a human. I can't help but look at this and see myself."

"Cas, you do what's right," Dean began, "and you do right by me. You've been there for me in ways no one else has."

"Sam?"

"Sam can't do some of the things you do for me, or the things that you've done to me."

"Oh. The kissing."

"Yeah."

"Don't you just usually do what you were planning tonight to satisfy that part of yourself?"

Dean shrugged, meaning to shoot him a glance, but he ended up staring for a few seconds, lost in his eyes, his lips.

"Yeah, but it's not the same. It's empty, you know?"

"No, Dean, I wouldn't know."

"So it's like this, okay? I sort of know them, right? They're another human being, and that's what we exist like in that moment, two human beings _together_, but then they have a life, and I have a life, and we move on. It's done, and then I need to fill the hole again in the next town, maybe with another girl or a guy, maybe with alcohol, but it doesn't stop digging itself. But you… you're… I know you, Cas. It don't matter that you're an angel. You're existing with me, okay? You have my back. I have yours. That's kind of how partners are supposed to be, right?"

"Partners."

Dean cracked a smile, and playfully whacked Castiel's chest before rubbing at it.

"Yeah, partners."

He drove on in silence for a bit, just happy to have Castiel with him, not at all caring that he was probably heading towards a fight. There was a question building in Castiel. He could sense it.

Eventually, he asked, setting Dean off laughing: "Does this mean I have to say 'yeehaw'?"

* * *

Madiel had taken his human lover into her living room and tied her to a dining room chair. Dean was watching him through the window. Castiel had filled him in on the name and the situation on the way there. Madiel was obsessed with the woman, Liz, a mother of two. The kids were away at dad's, and dad was away because of one too many drunken nights.

Of all things Madiel had come out on the porch and was smoking a cigarette, his dirty-blond hair blowing in the cool, night breeze, covering his eyes.

"You sure that's our guy?" Dean asked.

"It's him."

Madiel. Thin, tattooed arms, had collarbones that looked like they'd snap as soon as Dean could get him on the ground and step on him.

"So run it by me again?"

"Madiel was on Earth to do reconnaissance. As you know demons have been more active than ever, and he was supposed to report back to us. He never did, so I began discreetly looking into it. That was months ago. He's been seeing this woman, Liz, and now he's been killing anyone he perceives as a threat."

"So three vics so far," Dean added, remembering that bit of information. They were two men and one woman.

Madiel didn't discriminate, it would seem.

"So why's he got her tied up?"

"Perhaps to lure the husband in."

"But they're divorced."

Castiel took Dean's shoulder, turning him to him, which didn't irk Dean too much, seeing as Madiel was smoking _another_ cigarette. What the hell was with that angel?

"Dean, angels aren't supposed to be like me, or Madiel. They can… They can get territorial."

"You saying you're gonna start growling and marking your territory if I stay out too long?"

"I'm saying," Castiel replied, voice low, "you don't know the things I've done to keep you safe, or the things I've kept off your back."

A shudder ran through Dean.

"He's going back inside," Castiel observed.

"Alright, we movin' in?"

"No, we—"

"Oh, crap. Cas. Cas, he's calling someone."

Dean saw Madiel make his way over to a crying, shuddering Liz and put the phone to her ear. Her lip trembled and she didn't seem to say anything.

That was it, unless he wanted this to get worse, he had to get in there. He didn't have an angel blade, but he didn't give a damn.

Dean was out of the Impala and running across the street, and Castiel was by his side when he arrived.

"Castiel, and a Winchester," Madiel mused, looking over both of them with dark eyes, only slightly surprised. "What can I do for you?"

Liz's crying was loud, snot dripping from her nose, and over the phone Dean heard a worried male voice, and maybe even a little kid.

"Madiel," Castiel said, "you can let her go. You can leave her family out of this."

"Her family?" he asked. "I am her family."

Liz whimpered, and the angel crouched down, running a hand down her face.

"Shh, shh… It's alright, Lizzy. It's alright. They're gonna get here, and then it'll be quick. I promise. No pain. And then it'll just be us."

"Cute," Dean said, circling, trying to get closer to him, though he was without a weapon. Castiel had his angel blade out. Madiel still hadn't drawn his. "You know, I'm sure some chicks really dig the tying them up thing, but how about we make sure they enjoy it, huh?"

Madiel smirked, and he said the address into the phone, some orders. Then he hung up. He stood to his full height, which wasn't that impressive compared to Dean's or Castiel's, and he came forward.

"No? Well do you think they dig the way you look right now?"

Dean's face started turning beet red, but he didn't look away.

"Sure, I'm pretty," he forced out, "but I was actually looking for a fella," he said. "You know, been awhile since I've had something in my mouth. I've been so busy. You wanna volunteer? With you I'll use my teeth."

And then Madiel was on him. Dean was slammed into the wall, his head hitting the corner of a picture frame, thigh whacking into the window sill. The angel was punching him, and he felt a cut open up across his eyebrow. Castiel dragged Madiel off, and Liz was screaming.

Dean rushed over to her, and started to undo her bindings, and then he helped her behind the couch.

"You okay?" he asked her. "He hurt you?" She shook her head, gave Dean a quick hug around the neck, which he returned with a pat, and then he said, "Stay here."

She nodded, whimpering, and Dean rejoined the fight.

Castiel had lost his angel blade, and Madiel was trying to get the palm of his hand pressed against his forehead.

Dean let out a yell and ran into him, ramming into a glass side table. The metal warped a bit, and the glass shattered, the lamp and the tiny potted plants it held falling to the floor and then breaking as well.

An invisible force threw Dean across the room, his body breaking the curved rail of the stairs, and he collapsed. He was bleeding from somewhere, maybe multiple places and he didn't know where now. Bruises were surely blooming on his body.

"She's mine," Madiel growled. "Castiel, I'm sure you understand. You have Dean. There's no one and nothing you wouldn't kill for him."

Madiel knelt on Castiel's chest, knees pinning him down. Dean rolled onto his stomach, tried to crawl as slowly as possible, and was moaning in pain, trying to make himself seem pathetic, something to be ignored.

"I don't kill innocent people."

"God judges the innocent from the non-innocent. Are you God?"

Dean's hand wrapped around the hilt of the angel blade, which was now within reach, and he slid it over to Castiel.

Cas growled, stabbing it up into Madiel, and said, "God's gone."

Madiel died in a burst of light, body toppling over, wings massive shadows on the floor. Dean and Cas crawled over to each other, and knelt, feeling each other over for injuries.

"Cas, you alright?" Dean asked.

"I'm fine."

Castiel pressed at the wound across Dean's browbone.

"_Agh!_ Ow."

"Sorry."

"I'll be okay."

He searched around for Liz's phone, and he found it, handing it to her. "Call your family, make sure they know you're okay. Everything's gonna be okay."

* * *

They cleaned up the scene, called in something to the police — they had to, her family had gotten involved — and then they were on their way.

"Dean, your eyeliner is smudged."

"How bad?" he asked, now looking up into the rearview mirror, wiping at his face, trying to fix it.

Castiel grabbed his hand, gripping it tight.

"Not bad. The blood looks worse. Before all that you actually looked nice."

"Hey, I can look hot while bloody."

Cas gave him a half-smile, head tilting towards him.

"Alright, well, since I ruined your night, I should make up for it. Drinks are... on me."

"You got money?"

"No."

They started laughing together.

* * *

Dean did end up at a bar, and Castiel had helped him clean up a bit in the bathroom, and then he'd given the angel the money, letting him feel like he was the one buying drinks.

"You know, the glitter and sparkles — they give you a very _ethereal_ look."

"Do they?" Dean asked, sipping from his beer bottle, a lazy smile on his face as he leaned towards Cas. He was sure he was a little buzzed now, but not too buzzed to not do anything he didn't want to do.

"Mm, yes."

"And do you like ethereal?"

"My taste runs more towards… _human_."

"Oh."

Dean lowered his chin, disappointed, but Castiel grabbed his face, and brought it closer to his.

"But there is human there, even with the glitter and sparkles. I see you being brave, trying something new."

"Do you like it?"

"Is it important to you that I do?"

"I just wanted me to like it."

"Do you?"

Someone lit a cigarette near them, and Dean gave a little huff, blowing the smoke away, letting Castiel see him, letting anyone who looked see him if they chose.

"Yeah."

Castiel kissed him, mouth open so his teeth could nip, showing the territorial side he'd spoken of earlier, but it was Cas. Dean was safe, and for now, he might've been tired and hurting, but he was on the way to being happy with himself.


End file.
